A Chance To Live
by gil17
Summary: With Cherry Valance, there is more than meets the eye. She is hiding her inner torment with expensive clothes and faked smiles, knowing that the only ones who would truly understand her life are the daring Greasers. She longs to live their reckless lifestyle and somehow finds comfort with borderline hood Dallas Winston, who gives perfect Cherry the chance to live.
1. Chapter 1

Dally is ten years old. He arrives home later than usual. He pushed open the front door and immediately regrets it. His father is sitting in the car opposite the front door. There is a single light on casting an eerie glow on the room. Dally shuts the door and leans against it. He watches his father stand up slowly. Dally notes the table covered in empty beer glasses. Dally knows that this is not going to be a good night. Dally starts to walk slowly past his father to the doorway leading to the stairs. All he wants is to have a peaceful night for once in his life. He is just about to go through the doorway when his father's right arm appears in front of him blocking his path.

"And where, Dallas Winston, do you think you're going after coming home this time of night," his father's voice is slurring, be it from rage, the liquor, or both, Dally isn't sure.

"I'm sorry," Dally retorts, gritting his teeth and trying not to show his fear.

With his left hand, Dally's father grabs a baseball bat that he had been keeping next to him. "I'm going show the meaning of sorry." He lashes out once, twice, a third time. Dally turns away. With the third strike, he felt something crack; a rib, he thinks. Dally bolts to the door; his father might be violent and strong, but he has never been able to beat Dally cross-country style.

Dally makes it out the front door which slams behind him. The adrenaline in Dally's blood stream made time slow. He could hear his father screaming after him, something about a no good, worthless son. Dally keeps running until the street lights from in front of his house have faded into the distance. He doesn't know how long he kept running, just knew that he had to get away from that house in any way possible.

He spends the night in an abandoned repair shop on the outskirts of town. In New York, it isn't that hard to find run down places to crash in.

When the morning light begins to shine through the broken windows, Dally rises and begins his journey. He doesn't exactly know where he's going, just that he's leaving and never coming back.

Along the way, Dally notices a gas station. He has seen it only once before. It's around noon, and he's beginning to get hungry. No one would suspect a ten year old to steal things; no one could blame a poor kid for taking a little food. Yes, he could definitely play the whole ten-year-old orphan look.

Dally enters the store, calm and collected like nothing was wrong. When the cashier asks if Dally needed any help, Dally simply shook his head no and ventured to the back of the store. He only needed some food and drinks. Dally wandered around for a couple of minutes. Every now and then when he knew the cashier isn't looking, Dally sneaks something into the old backpack that he found in the old repair shop he'd spent the night in. It had several holes in it, but none big enough for things to fall out of.

Dally acquires food, some drinks, and, as a last minute thought, some gum. He makes sure the cashier isn't watching before he bolts to the door. The cashier seems baffled, then starts running after him yelling.

When Dally turns the corner several minutes later, he spots the lights flashing from a police car. He can tell he's been spotted because the car soon begins to speed up towards him. Dally turns around only to spot another vehicle approaching him steadily.

That was the first night Dally had spent in jail and it lived up to every horrible account he'd been told. It opened his eyes to so much. If he thought he was afraid when his father got after him, he didn't know the definition of fear. While in prison, now that was fear. You try to sleep soundly next to convicts. Then Dally realized that he, too, was a convict. And the thought thrilled him for some reason. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that made him enjoy it so much. Maybe it was because, for once, he didn't have to answer to someone else. When he broke the law, there was no higher power to stop him. He'd answered to that drunken father for much too long. Now he was free of that, and couldn't stand answering to anyone else every again. For once in his life, he felt strangely alive. He knew that he shouldn't get off like by breaking the law for he knew it was wrong. But that didn't matter anymore. He was free.

Dally wake up to the sound of an officer knocking on his jail cell. "Dallas Winston, your time is up. And do me a favor. Us police do not like killing kids, even if they are no good kids like you."

Dally shook his head and looked down at his 17-year-old body as he rose from his cot. That was the most vivid flashback he'd ever had. He shook his head as if to shake out the thoughts of the past. He followed the officer out of the jail house like he had done so many times before. But one stood out in his mind; one memory of this walk that occurred seven long years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I forget to mention that this is my first fanfiction, so please excuse any errors or general suckishness of the story. But I'd be delighted to know what you think. And while the first chapter happened with Dally in third person, this and chapters hereafter shall be in Cherry's P.O.V. **

"Cherry," Sarah calls in a sing-song voice that is barely audible in the busy hallway. I shut my locker and turn to face her, the corners of my lips automatically pulling upwards into my signature smile. I push the hair out of my face and tuck it behind my right ear.

"I hear it's someone's birthday," she says as she comes to my side. I straighten my shoulders and fall into pace beside her. We do this every day; it feels so natural. So why does it seem so wrong? Yes, the words change, but it's never too deep a conversation. Nothing that might alter the status quo. It's just enough to keep the conversation flowing. I make it seem so effortless, yet it is forced.

I keep on the mask and nod occasionally as Sarah talks on and on about the party she is planning at my house for my birthday. She only stops once to comment on my outfit choice. Simple, but classy skirt with Bob's letterman jacket. She says she loves it and doesn't seem to notice that I don't. Whatever. I should be used to that by now.

She walks me to my car. When she leaves, I pull off my jacket making sure no one is around. I can't risk showing the scar from my dad on my upper arm. He had grabbed my arm too tightly in one night's drunken stupor and his nails dug into my arm causing a mark that never seems to fade. It was only once; he didn't know what he was doing. Besides, I can't say anything and ruin the façade that my life is perfect.

I drive slowly, knowing that this time is the only point I can be myself- or with Ponyboy. But that is out of the question. And Dallas… Hmm… that is a funny notion. A Soc hanging out with a Greaser was bed enough, but Dallas was a borderline hood.

As I drive I see Dallas. He waves me over. I glance around me; the coast is clear. I pull my car over to the side of the road. I debate pulling my jacket back on, but it's only Dallas, not Sarah or Bob. He places both of his hands on my window and leans down. He smiles and makes some stupid joke about the dirt on his hands coming off onto Daddy's little girl's brand new car. I can't really concentrate on that though. Instead, I take the note from his hand.

Then, he simply walks away without offering me the gift of an explanation. I watch him go, then carefully unfold the note. As I do so, I hear the voices of my friends playing in my mind mocking Dallas. They just don't see him the way I do. Beyond that reputation, there is someone who knows the meaning of life and how to life it; someone who knows enough not to care about the opinions of others because his is drowning them all out. The only thing I'm drowning out is who I want to be, but can't.

I slip the note into my jacket pocket when I pull into my driveway. As soon as I open the door, the words slap into me. Each one feels like another hand pushing me back out the door again. But those hands are only in my mind, and this was a typical night at the Valance household. I shut the door silently behind me and tiptoe past the kitchen where my parents stand fighting. The noise of their raised voices is there, but the words just don't sink in anymore.

I pass by the living room. Try as I might, I cannot figure out how to ignore the messed up sheets on the couch from my dad sleeping there last night. Or this past month really. Before Sarah comes over, I'll have to fold those up and put them out of sight. And those empty shot glasses on the table will have to be removed as well. I sigh and walk up the stairs. Each foot feels like it has a weight on it. With each step, it only gets worse.

I make it to my room and sit on my bed. I curl up my knees and let my head sink into my hands. No tears fall; they stopped flowing long ago. I'm grateful because I can't risk my eyes betraying me and leaving evidence of my torment. Not with this party tonight.

I get up and walk to my closet. I pull out my close-fitting, knitted sweater and slip it on. I change my skirt to a dresser one. I take a scarf out of my drawer and tie it around my neck. I don't really like them, but that's the fashion, so I'll suck it up and wear it anyway. I have to keep up the appearance or my friends will freak.

The last time I wore a little different makeup, I got a lecture from Sarah on how awful I looked. Good girls just don't wear that dark of a shade. It's improper and wrong. I mean, who was I? A Soc, or a Greaser? You could tell the way she said Greaser that it was the worst thing to be in her mind, like the word itself actually had a bitter taste.

I look at myself in the mirror. Nice and socially acceptable. No big fashion risks, just plain Soc. So perfect with everything so askew.

I glance at my clock once "satisfied" with my appearance. I only had fifteen minutes before Sarah got here. I open my door and slide down the hallway. My ears are picking the air for any noise of the argument. They have stopped, thank goodness. They know about the party tonight, and they are good at putting on airs. Maybe that is where I get it from.

I fold the sheets from the couch and put them in the hallway closet. I take the pillow and place it upstairs on my parents' bed so it looks like it was never missing. Just seconds after I finish cleaning the shot glasses and out them back into their proper placement, there is a knock on the front door.

When I open, Sarah and Bob enter. Sarah hussles Bob and I upstairs so she could set up. She brought Bob with her so I wouldn't be tempted to go downstairs and see what she's doing. It's not like I care anyway, but she can't see that.

I sit with Bob in my room and he begins to talk. I pretend to listen. It's all about him, all the time. He only stops when my dad sticks his head into my room to say hi . My parents love Bob, the classic Soc. When he leaves, Bob resumes talking. Bob is safe. Bob is comfortable. Bob is…expected.

But that Dallas Winston; he intrigues me. To be so reckless, carefree, and bold. Not to just go through the motions, but to actually live- to come alive in every dangerous, breathtaking moment. Oh, how I long to feel like that, to get intoxicated on life itself. What a foreign concept, but how sweet that would be! To just break the rules, if only once, instead of going along with what everyone expects me to be without breaking stride.

Why do I try to change myself to be like what others want? Why do I subdue myself to become someone else's vision of perfect that I so desperately yearn to break free of? Why do humans feel compelled to compromise their identity to fit in? Why do we feel the need to be every single thing expected of us even if it means sacrificing ourselves in the process?

Sarah banging on the door jostles me out of my daydream. How could an entire hour pass by so quickly? It's kind of comical that Bob had no idea I wasn't paying attention. But also kind of sad.

My downstairs is full of people. I put on my best party face and glide down the stairs, back perfectly straight. I look at each person, not really seeing their face. It's just another person to appease, but I've gotten used to satisfying others without pleasing myself.

Throughout the night, I get well-wishes and expensive gifts. With each smile I fake I feel more lonely and tired. I am so ready for tonight to be over.

When it finally is, I am so relieved. I go to my room and unpiece my guise little by little, slowly feeling more like myself with each removal. I ardor to feel like this all the time, to not put on a pretense every time I leave the safety and comfort of my room.

I unfold Dallas's note again. He asked me to join him for a movie this Saturday. It is so tempting. By 'it' I mean the chance to taste life the way he does. Honestly and freely.

When I finally go to sleep that night, I dream I am with Dallas. We are simply enjoying being alive. We do crazy, reckless things that neither one of us regret at all. There's not stereotypes, no reason for me to change who I am. And it feels amazing.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is short, but it seemed like the appropriate ending spot. Don't fret though, my dears, the next chapter is being uploaded A.S.A.P. **

I leave for school early the following morning. My parents aren't up yet; my dad's probably hung over. Who knows what he did when people left. It's safe to assume he drank; he has been choosing the bottle over his family ever since his brother died three years ago. Since then, he's been a changed man. I know Dallas goes to the DX with Sodapop around this time each day.

When I drive in, I see that today is no different. I am the only Soc in this gas station, seeing as it's on Greaser turf, but it feels oddly like home. It's so much easier to relax here than in my own household, so much easier than faking my entire life when I'm with my "friends." And talking to Dallas was truly effortless. He paid attention to what I said, and though I was a bit afraid of him, he was different from the other guys I knew. He looked me in the eyes when we talked, something no one else has done before.

"Dallas , I think I'm going to take you up on the offer. But no one can see us together," I say when I finally have him to myself.

"Fine sweetheart. And it's Dally. Dallas seems so…formal," he replies smoothly and nonchalantly, like it didn't make a difference to him whether or not I joined him. He shrugs his shoulders, "Besides, that's how the police know me." He smiles slyly almost as if he is proud of himself for being so familiar with the officers.

I get in my car looking over my shoulder three times on my way back. He just stands there kicking the dirt and watching his feet. Even though he is feet away from me, I can tell his mind is miles from here. Some think his mind got buried with Johnny, but I disagree. Yeah, that boy was basically Dallas's, I mean Dally's, life and right after Johnny died, Dally did go a little, well, crazy. But when the one person who ties you to your sanity dies, can you really blame someone for going a little psycho. I mean, I have no _real_ ties to my world, and, in a way, it's driving me insane, slowly, but surely.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday night I meet Dally at the park where Johnny killed Randy. I could tell by the way he was looking at the fountain that he wasn't happy to be here, but he was the one who initiated the meeting place. From there we drive the movie theater on the Greaser side of town. No Soc in their right mind would go here; it was too "hardcore" for them, whether or not they'd admit it. Admitting something was too dangerous was foreign to the Socs. They were known for terrorizing Greasers just because they could get away with it. But if there was some threat involved, then the Socs wouldn't have it in them. No matter how the fights started it was always the greaser's fault because they were hoodlums that always started trouble. In truth, however, the Socs picked the fights knowing they could get away with it.

Dally jumped the fence and then he helps me over. Doing something the legal way just isn't Dally's style. The movie, though not important, was some stupid beach film. I don't think Dally watched a single minute of it. He was too busy watching me, but I suppose that shows what _I myself_ was paying more attention to. My face flush, I pretended not to notice; instead, I snuck glances occasionally. If we happened to lock eyes, then I would blush, then drop my gaze self-consciously.

We walked out of the drive-in slowly making small conversation until we got to a nearby gas station. It wasn't the same DX that Sodapop worked at, but similar in both size and shadiness. No one save the cashier was there when we walked in. Dally looked at the cashier who was sizing us up. I can only imagine the thoughts going through his head. _A girl like her with a low life like him. Impossible. _ It's some middle-aged guy with salt-and-pepper hair cut short.

Dally grabbed my hand an pulled me to the back where the sodapop was. In a voice barely audible even to me, he whispered, "I'll show you how this is done. Act natural and follow my lead."

"Oh because I would naturally follow you anywhere, Dallas Winston," I say smoothly back.

"You know it, darlin'."

I smirk and withdraw my hand from his as he hands me a soda and gets one for himself. He casually walks to the front, occasionally picking up things like magazines and faking interest, all the while keeping the cashier in his perianal vision.

We are almost up to the door when the cashier deems us suitable to shop in his store and returns to his newspaper. The angle Dally has led us up to the front is so that we are equidistant from the door to the counter. With one fluid motion, Dally grabs my hand, opens the door, and yanks my arm nearly out of its socket. He simply yells the word "run" and keeps dragging me behind. I can hear the cashier yelling behind us. With a brief glance, I can see him picking up the phone.

We keep running, putting ample distance between us and the store, but just when I think we are safe, we round the corner to be greeted by flashing police lights.

"I have a plan," Dally says hurried as he stops short and swings himself around. What he registers in my eyes as panic is none other than excitement. He says in a calmer tone, " Just trust me, Cherry."

He leads me back the way we came. He vanishes right before my eyes and suddenly we are both disappearing into a dark and dreary alley way. I follow him through the maze, shocked at how well he knows these paths though I suppose I shouldn't be.

The network of tunnels somehow brings us back to the park where we met. Dally's eyes are aglow in the dim moonlight and I am high on the adrenaline rush. It is incredible. Better than my dream.


	5. Chapter 5

For the next several weeks, Dally and I meet secretly. I live a double life- one Soc, one greaser. After the first three weekends spent with Dally, I end it with Bob; people, including me, are shocked. I never thought I'd have the courage to break off this relationship that is so vital to my reputation. But Dally has been slowly convincing me that a life like his was the one I was born to have. I am finally happy; I finally feel like I belonged somewhere. So I begin unraveling my "perfect" life to actually live with Dally.

I take a bold step today by not dressing like a Soc at all. I ditch the long, preppy skirt for a shorter one. I don't wear one of those cursed scarves. The shirt I wear is actually black. I do my makeup a little differently, a little darker. Sarah had been becoming a little more distance with me over the weeks by the changes she saw in me. I doubt she approved, but I don't care anymore. She's one of the fake people too; one who just puts on a show for the rest of us to see.

After the last bell, I am by my locker. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah approaching. I shut my locker, turn, and wait for her to come to me like she does every day. Instead today, she lets her runs run over the length of my body and continues walking. I smile sadly, wondering why a person's appearance often outshines the personality.

I walk by myself to my car, feeling less lonely than when Sarah was actually with me. How ironic.

I meet Dally that afternoon like we had planned. When I first arrive, he takes in the outfit and says simply that he likes the change.

We drive my car up to a hill overlooking the rest of the town. I explain to him what happened with Sarah, but that I am not overly upset. I tell him, as best I can, why I have dealt with the Socs for so long. It was expected and normal, and the only thing I could control in my life was how people perceived me. But that wasn't me; I wasn't enjoying any aspect of my life.

Dally listens intently. Only once I finish does he speak. "Perhaps it is only when we let go of our desire for constant control of life that we can fully embrace it."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Flashback to the weeks leading up to Chapter 5, which I originally wasn't going to include but thanks to the encouragement of AnimeFan202- here it is. **

Late that night, Dally decides to lie on the hood of my car with me. Well, lie is inaccurate. He more props his upper body up using his elbow into one of those signature greaser styles. We don't say anything for a while, and my thoughts begin to drift a bit thinking about the days leading up to this moment.

The first thing I did was change my appearance while I was with Dally. Slowly at first. I started by altering the makeup I wore. I used more of it and the eye makeup was all black. My lipstick, however, was bright red. I had seen tons of greaser girls do this when I was out with Bob, who, of course, was harassing them and telling me that we were way above them on the social ladder, and that greasers should go far away from this town. It's funny how he cared so much to make sure the greaser girls knew this and they didn't seem to care one way or the other, bolding telling him where exactly they'd like _him _to go and spitting in his face. Exactly like how most girls reacted to Dally.

Then, I started wearing shorter skirts, like the ones that go above your knee. I matched those with these old boots that I found. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask Dally for his jacket. Most greaser girls wore the jackets of whoever they were "going steady with." I figured this would be a good test to see how committed Dally was to me, and it made the look more complete. I told Dally that I was trying to make myself look more "greaser-like." At first he laughed and I thought he was making fun of me like all of my other "friends" would have. But he simply looked down at his hand and slide off his ring. When he handed it to me, I looked at it as if I had never before held one; I was confused. I had never seen Dally without his ring on before. He smiled and rolled his eyes as if to say stupid girl.

"You wear it on a necklace. If you wanna be more 'greaser-like', sweetheart, adapt yourself more to 'our' ways," he said, mocking me by using his hands to signal 'our' and 'greaser-like.'

I unlatched my necklace and slide it on. I reattached it and looked down. Yeah, I could get used to this.

I started blending the two lifestyles together slowly. One day I'd show up with greaser makeup, the next I would be plain old Cherry, trying to ease the two together. I'd gotten a lot of funny looks the first time I did this, but people still talked to me. I noticed though that they never looked at my face when they did so; they would always pretend to be busy doing homework, or checking inside their locker for something. Then I'd start to walk away, and they'd turn and watch me leave, a puzzled expression plastered on their face.

Then I showed up with boots on, the tops of which were not visible due to the long skirt. At first no one noticed. Then Sarah did. When she asked me what I was doing, I blushed and just said that I couldn't find my shoes this morning so I had to borrow someone else's. She laughed and looked relieved. And for a moment, I was relieved too. Then I realized what I did. I had the perfect opportunity to answer her question with honesty, and I let it slip through my fingers, almost insulting the greaser lifestyle as I did so.

Then I upgraded to a short skirt. I got tons of insults, especially from the guys. They'd whistle as I walked past, but from their expressions I could tell they were just messing with me. I walked a little faster each time before realizing that there was no need. I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just doing something differently than most proper girls.

My hair was the last thing to change before today. Last week, I teased my hair and wore it up for the first time since I was a little girl. My hair color made it look like I had fire on top of my head, and the high of my hair from teasing it was almost laughable. I had never since my hair like this before, I liked it.

My parents didn't say anything to me. I don't think they even noticed a change in me. They were always too busy screaming at one another to even realize I was home. And when my dad did see me, he was too busy getting wasted to realize what was going on. I didn't have to face being ridiculed at home, too.

I had never before today shown up completely greaser-ized. But Dally was convincing me that other people's views of me don't matter; it's how I view myself that makes the difference.

I was alerted by Dally shaking my shoulder. I looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You fell asleep. I have to get you home now. It's close to two in the morning."

As we drove, I had my hand out of the window, playing with the wind. My thoughts no longer on the past, but on the here and now and what's to come.

**P.S.- if you don't know what teasing is it's what greaser girls did to make their hair a lot bigger. Kind of like how a perm makes hair get curler and bigger, just teasing can be done without professional assistance. **


End file.
